The Elegant Prince
by MaDaraa Uchi
Summary: Rachelle's life was always a mess, no matter how helpful and supportive she was to the men she dated. Nothing ever went her way, she admitted being the most miserable person to ever exist. When she thought her life couldn't get any worse, she accidentally summons the drop-dead gorgeous, powerful and scary as hell 'Uchiha Madara' to her world. [Madara U x OC] Izuna U
1. Chapter 1

{madaraxoc}MadaRache

Chapter: One

**_British Columbia, Canada_**

''Let's go on a romantic trip to Toronto, Honey.'' Mack said.

Ah, baby, please try to get the money. I so much want us to go on this trip because I have such a very, very special surprise for you."

With that being said. For a whole six months, Rachelle had worked on planning the trip, which she'd come to think of as their honeymoon. A "pre-honeymoon," she called it in her mind. "The decision maker," she said to herself, then smiled.

Two days before Mack had suggested for a romantic trip, Rachelle was balancing Mack's household-accounts check-book when she saw a canceled check for five thousand dollars made out to a jewelry store. As she held the check, tears of happiness came to her eyes. "An engagement ring," she'd whispered. That Mack had spent so much was proof that even though he was a tad stingy on small things, when something really counted, he was generous.

For the next few months Rachelle had walked on clouds. She cooked wonderful meals for Mack and had been especially energetic in the bedroom, doing everything she could think of to please him.

She made reservations at the most romantic, most exclusive hotels Niagara Falls had to offer. When she'd asked Mack's opinion of a hotel, he'd winked at her and said, "Spare no expense for this trip." She'd ordered brochures, bought travel books, read and researched until she knew the names of the areas in Toronto.

Mack's only stipulation had been that he wanted a romantically exciting trip as well as fun, so she'd compiled a list of many things to do that were close to their lovely hotels—which was easy to do, since Niagara Falls is known to be a very exciting and fan place for lover's enjoyment.

~Few months late~

They'd finally arrived at the Sheraton Hotel, which was located across from Niagara Falls on the 20 Aces Fall Avenue. Their hotel room was flawless, it'd a living-room with big windows, huge mirrors that hung on wall, she thought everything was as perfect as she wanted. She was on her way to the bedroom to check it out when she heard Mack saying something on the phone, he was in their b-room. She made up her mind to eavesdrop on the conversation.

''Sweetest Natalie.'' Don't be silly….You don't have to cry over a little present, I'd give you everything in the world and you know it. A five thousand dollar diamond bracelet doesn't mean a thing. ''You are my mother after all.'' After a while she heard him say good bye to his mother and hung-up the phone started walking towards her.

Rachelle couldn't prevent the gasp that escaped her after she heard what Mack just said, for she knew what was supposed to be her engagement ring was actually a diamond bracelet given to an old woman? Her heart was beating to fast she thought she would pass out, the idea of no marriage proposal, and certainly no engagement ring, was giving to her a heart-attack.

When Mack came out of the room finding her frozen on the door way, he know she'd heard the conversation he'd with his mother but he didn't care and just ignored her. He made his way to the living room leaving her standing behind him. After he vanished, she pulled herself together gathering all her courage and followed him.

"Are we going to get married?" she whispered. "Is it ever going to happen, Mack?"

Where did you get that idea? I don't think I've done anything that would give you that impression. If bringing you to this trip gave you that stupid idea then I'm sorry to disappoint you.

The anger she felt at that moment could bring back the dead to life. '' FIRST OF ALL, YOU DID NOT BRING ME HERE. SECOND, IT'S NOT STUDIP TO WANT TO MARY A MAN I'VE LOVED FOR YEARS! She yelled at him.

If any thing, I brought you here, I paid for this trip, hotel, room-service and also rented the car we're using! While you were busy spending your entire pay check on a five thousand bracelet you gave your mother; I was spending my money on this damned trip, thinking something good will come out of it.

''Boy, was I ever wrong.''

_"SMACK"_

How dare you? You have got some nerve talking to me like that.

Rachelle stared in horror, she couldn't believe what just happened.'' Mack had actually hit her.

Angrily, he turned away from her. " if you don't start showing a little maturity and generosity there won't be future for this relationship." And by that he went back into the bedroom.

Rachelle wasn't sure what to do, so she considered one of the options that was running wild in her brain; scream, jump off the balcony, go in their bedroom and beat the crap out of her boyfriend, or simply gather her belongings and take the next plane home.

After a considerate amount of time, she settled for a walk. Perhaps a long walk would help clear her head, a cleared mind would help her think rationally before she said or did something she would come to regret later. Quietly she left the hotel building taking the route that lead to niagara falls.

She'd some serious decisions to make and she wanted time to think. Should she stay and be miserable, or should she leave? If she left now, she knew Mack would never forgive her and all the time and effort she'd invested in him would have been for nothing.

**_The Uchiha Compound_**

Uchiha Madara was trying to concentrate on the letter he was writing, the latter probably was one of the most important documents he'd to write. Everything depended upon this letter: his Honor, his Clan, his Family's future—and his life and it was to be delivered to the Uchiha elders for review in two hours. It was an important document regarding the Peace Treaty. That bastard Senju had sent the said document a week ago.

Madara-sama, your brother is here to see you, he says it's urgent, would you like me to let him in sir? Said one of his bodyguards. ''Sure let him in.'' Hello brother? Izuna Uchiha greeted. Beautiful day we're having, I thought we could go outside for a walk at the river. You have been to occupied these days that I barely see you!

''Oh, Izuna.'' I know, I've been busy and for that I apologize, but I promise to go with you anywhere you want tomorrow. Ok?

"You always say the same thing every time I ask," Fine I'll listen, however I'll be here fast thing tomorrow morning. I'll take my leave now, Enjoy the rest of the day Madara-sama. After his little brother left, Madara sighed and continued with his writing, for once his brother didn't over react about being turned down. The well being and the safety of his brother and the clan was his top-priority, He had to work his ass off. He would gladly die for his beloved Izuna to live in a safe environment.

As he went back to writing the letter, he began to hear a woman weeping. He ignored the weeping, he thought he was just hearing things. After a few minutes the sobbing became even louder. Annoyed, he got up and walked to the large window opposite to where he was sitting, looked out he saw no one. No women were allowed on the floor where his office was.

The room he was in had walls so thick he could hear nothing from outside, and the oak door was heavy, besides if his guards saw anything suspicious they'd take care of it or inform him at once.

To his annoyance, the woman continued weeping as if her cat had died. He didn't see this weeping woman nor did he get any report from his guards regarding a crazy crying woman walking around. "She is not of this world," Yeah, that must be it he told himself, then gave a shiver as he crossed himself. He sat back down at the chair and again began to write. But the moment he sat down, he heard her again. Her weeping had grown to loud the entire village would hear.

Madara cocked his head to one side and listened. Yes, she was weeping, but her tears were not from fear, or even from grief. No, he could feel that the source of her pain came from something deeper.

"No!" he said aloud. He did not have the time to try to understand this woman, whether she was of flesh or spirit. Was unimportant, he gave his attention back to the letter, but he could not concentrate. The woman's tears were pulling him to her. She needed something, but he could not tell what. Did she need comfort? Soothing? What did she want of him?

He was getting really angry now, the woman's tears were filling his head. No, he thought, what she needed was hope. The weeping was from a person who no longer had hope.

Madara wrote two more lines, but then he'd stopped. The crying was increasing, growing louder. As it increased in volume, it seemed to grow inside until it filled every corner of the room—and every nook inside his brain.

"Lady," he whispered, his voice filled with desperation, "give me peace. I would give my life to help you, but I cannot. My time is pledged elsewhere." Doing his best to block out the sounds from the woman, he closed his eyes.

But his pleas meant nothing, for the woman's weeping grew and grew until the inside of Madara's head began to go round and round. Slowly, he opened his eyes, but he saw nothing. Before him was only darkness. He could not see the walls of the room or the door. He could feel the chair beneath him, but he could no longer see the table or the letter that was so important to him.

But as he sat there, a small, bright light appeared in the far distance, and Madara felt himself drawn to the light. As he looked at that tiny speck so far away, it was as though nothing in his life had ever mattered but that light.

"Yes," he whispered. Then he closed his eyes and gave himself over to the sound of the woman's tears. Slowly, his body relaxed and he put his head down beside the letter he'd been writing. "Yes," he whispered again as he surrendered himself.

Thanks for reading...please review.


	2. Chapter 2

The elegant prince.

madaraxrachelle

Chapter: Two

Rachelle didn't know how long she had been walking and she had been crying the whole time, she cursed her life, she began asking herself question. Why does my life suck? Why don't I ever get a man who wants to spend the rest of his life with me? Did I subconsciously offend the gods that they decided on punishing me with misery for eternity?

The more she asked these questions the more depressed she became, as she walked she choose to call Mack and inform where she was so he wouldn't worry for her safety, also tell him she would be at the hotel soon.

She made a call but spoke to the lady that checked them in when they arrived at the hotel, as she listened to the confused lady, she couldn't help the tears coming down her cheeks. The lady was explaining to her that Mack had checked them out of the hotel about 45 minutes ago, taking his and her luggages heading to the airport. She was so confused, she could't make sense out of the words she was being told. If she understood anything; her so-called boyfriend, left without her, taking her bags and everything she owned int his city, leaving her without a place to live nor her wallet. In other words, he robbed-leaving her with absolutely _Nothing_.

''He said you were too sick and couldn't help him with the bags and or check-outs,'' the lady was still explaining. Rachelle wasn't listening anymore, in fact she hung up the phone right away.

She stood motionless for couple of second. _WHAT HAVE I DONE TO DESERVE THIS? _She suddenly screamed. It was all right to scream especially when your jerk of a boyfriend steals your luggage and leaves you stranded in another province. No passport, money, identifications, or clothes.

She started crying while walking, not a clue as to where she was going…nor did she walked for what felt like hours till she feet kicked something hard, she stopped picked up the item and inspected it. It looked like an old mirror, it beautiful even if old. She tried seeing her reflection in the mirror but the image was to blur.

''Why bother checking yourself in a mirror?'' you have just been dumped, robbed and abandoned; are you nuts? She asked herself.

I have had the worst life ever, every guy I ever dated did not only dump me but also did worse things. It's wasn't fair at all.

"I wish I can get my own prince.'' A man who will save me from this misery, I want a hero of my own. ''He should be gorgeous like the sun, handsome, intelligent, considerate, and understanding.'' I'm not trying to be selfish, I'm tired of men playing with my heart and life like it means nothing at all. Ha LOL, I have finally lost it….I'm talking to an old mirror.

She was tired of walking when she saw a large tree close by, she walked up to it collapsing beside it, she was hungry, cold and stinky; she had not showered since yesterday. What was she going to do now? ''Call her family and ask for help.'' That souds reasonable, though it would crush her dignity and pride, she had no choice.

Rachelle cried harder as she remembered the many times she'd had to go to her family for help. And now she was going to have to ask for their help again. Once again she was going to have to admit that she'd made a fool of herself over a man. But this time was worse, because this man had been someone who had her family's approval. But somehow Rachelle had lost him.

"Help me," she whispered, her hand on the handle of the mirror. "Help me find my Elegant Prince. Help me find a man who wants me." Sitting back on her heels, with her hands covering her face, Rachelle began to cry harder.

After a long while, she slowly came to realize that someone was near her. When she turned her head, a stream of sunlight coming from a high window hit metal and so blinded her that she sat back near the tree floor with a thud. She put her hand up to shield her eyes.

Standing before her was a man, a man who appeared to be wearing . . . armor. He was standing so still, and glaring down at Rachelle so fiercely, that at first she thought he wasn't real. She couldn't help staring up at him in openmouthed astonishment. He was an extraordinarily good looking man, with long black hair and was wearing the most authentic-looking stage costume she'd ever seen.

He wore a shining red armor, black gloves, black shirt with a high-collar and blue pants, his legs—his big, muscular legs—were bandaged.

"Well, what clan do you belong to and why did you summon me here," the man said in a deep arrogant tone, "you have conjured me, so what the hell do you want from me….She-devil?"

"She-devil?" Rachelle asked, sniffing and wiping away tears. From inside his blue pants, the man pulled out a white linen handkerchief and handed it to her. Rachelle blew her nose noisily.

"Have my enemies hired you?" I bet those idiotic good-for-nothing Senjus have something to do with this, the man muttered to himself . "What is it they're plotting against me this time?

Stand, cockroach, and explain yourself." He said.

Gorgeous, but off his rocker, Rachelle thought. "Listen, I don't know what you're talking about." Slowly, she stood up. "Now, if you'll excuse me—" She didn't say any more because he drew a long sword, then held the sharp point against her throat. "Speak now before loose your head, I have little tolerance for cowards!"

It was all too much for Rachelle. First Mack, and now this mad Hamlet. She burst into tears again and slumped against the cold tree.

"Damnation!" the man muttered, and the next thing Rachelle knew he had picked her up throwing her on the ground hard and saw him doing some kind of hand sign.

What will happen to these two strangers?Mmm I wonder? Well, find out in the next chapter.

I'll would appreciate it if you guys review, I will be inspired to continue with the story. Thanks for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

_Madara x Rachelle_

Chapter: Three

"I thought he can talk." Why is he using hand signs? Rachelle was wondering what was really wrong with the man that had appeared from thin air just minutes ago.

"Fire style: Fireball Justu"

"I personally think his handsome, but his…" She snapped out of her thoughts in time to see a huge fire coming out of the man's mouth and coming in her direction. Rachelle couldn't believe her eyes, well figuring out what was happening would have to wait, right now: she'd to run for dear her life.

She ran crying, Why the hell was this guy trying to kill her? She ran as fast as she could but the fire was too fast for her. "Holy Shit, I'm going to die here?" Luckily for her, there was a house not to far from where she'd been, hopefully the fire won't be able to reach it. Rachelle ran behind the house, sat down-bringing her knees to her chest and placed her head on her knees. She slowed her sobbing so she wouldn't be heard.

"You really are an idiot."

He stood over her, glaring down at her. Rachelle couldn't seem to stop whimpering. "This has been the worst day of my life," she groaned. The man was scowling down at her like an actor out of an old Bette Davis movie. "I'm sorry," she managed to say. "I don't know what I did wrong for you to be so furious with me, but whatever it is. Please don't kill me.

The man didn't reply, I don't usually cry so much, but to be abandoned by the man I love and attacked—with fire almost getting burnt alive, all in the same day, sets me off." As she wiped her eyes, she glanced down at the handkerchief. It was a large linen square, and around the border was an inch and a half band of intricate silk embroidery of what looked to be a white and red fan. "How pretty," she choked out.

"There is no time for trivialities. My soul is at stake—as is yours. I ask you again: What reason did you have to summon me here."

Rachelle was recovering herself. "I don't know what you're talking about. I was having a good cry all alone, and you, wearing that absurd outfit, came in here and started yelling at me. I've a good mind to call the police, or just sue your ass for attempted murder" By-the-way, how did you spit out fire?

It is illegal to burn people, you know.

"Illegal?" the man asked. He was looking at her arm. "Is that a clock on your arm? And what manner of dress is it that you wear?"

"Of course it's a clock, and these are my normal clothes. Conservative. No jeans or T-shirts. Nice blouse, nice skirt. You know, Miss Marple–type clothes."

He was frowning at her, but there seemed to be less anger about him. "You talk uncommonly strangely. What sort of ninja are you?" Throwing up her hands in despair, Rachelle stood up and faced him. He was quite taller than she was, so she had to look up. "I am not a ninja, and I am not part of your stage drama," she said firmly. "And now I'm going to leave this place, and I can promise you that if you try anything fancy with that fire or sword of yours, I'll scream so loud the whole city will hear. Here's your handkerchief. I'm sorry it's so wet, but I thank you for lending it to me. Good-bye, and I hope your play gets great reviews." Turning sharply, she walked out on him.

* * *

Madara was left alone, he didn't know what to do with a rude woman that was walking out on him, he had tried scaring her with his fireball justu so she would freak-out, go on her knees~beg for her life while spitting out all her plans and the names of the people who had sent her. However, that wasn't what had happened; she had ran off and hid herself instead. He was sure killing her right here and now wouldn't help his situation, she was extremely annoying pretending she wasn't responsible for his predicament.

He'd no time to waste here, his brother and clan might be in danger, besides there was a letter waiting to be finished; he was the only one to write it. He followed the girl, she'd the answers to his questions.

"At least nothing more horrible than what I've already been through can happen to me today," Rachelle murmured as she left the yard. There was a telephone booth beyond the gate, and Rachelle used it to make a collect call to her parents' home in Quebec City. A sleepy Sophia {her big sister}answered the phone.

Anybody but her, Rachelle thought, rolling her eyes skyward. She'd rather talk to anyone on earth than her perfect older sister.

"Rachelle, is that you?" Sophia asked, waking up. "Are you all right? You're not in trouble again, are you?" Rachelle gritted her teeth. "Of course I'm not in trouble. Is Dad there? Or Mom?" Or even a stranger off the street, she thought.

Sophia yawned. "No, they went up to the mountains. I'm here house-sitting and working on a paper."

"Think it'll win a Nobel prize?" Rachelle asked, trying to make a joke and sound carefree. Sophia wasn't fooled. "All right, Rachelle, what's wrong? Has that surgeon of yours stranded you somewhere?" Rachelle gave a little laugh.

"Sophia, you do say the funniest things. Mark and I are having a wonderful time. There are so many fantastic things to see and do here. Why, just this morning we saw a medieval play. The actors were so good. And you wouldn't believe how good the costumes are!" Sophia paused. "Rachelle, you're lying. I can hear it over the phone. What's wrong? Do you need money?"

"What a stuck-up bitch, lucky for her~she isn't here, or I would've strangled the life out of her skinny bones." Rachelle thought.

Try as she might, Rachelle could not make her lips form the word "yes." Her family loved to tell what they called Rachelle-stories. They loved the one about the time Rachelle got locked out of her hotel room when she was wearing only a towel. Then there was the time Rachelle went to the bank to deposit a check and walked into a bank robbery. What they especially loved about this story was that when the police arrived, they discovered that the robbers were carrying toy guns.

Now she could imagine Sophia's laughter when she told all the Richardson's cousins how funny little Rachelle had gone to Toronto and been left when she went for a walk, with no money, no passport, nothing. "And, oh, yes," Sophia would say over the howls of laughter, "she was attacked by a crazed stage ninja actor."

"No, I don't need money," Rachelle said at last. "I just wanted to say hello. I hope you a great day. See ya." She heard Sophia say, "Rachelle" as she dropped the receiver into the cradle. For a moment Rachelle leaned back against the booth and closed her eyes. She could feel the tears starting again. She had the Richardson's pride, but she'd never done anything to be proud of. She had two older sisters who were epitome: Sophia was a professor of physics, and Shania was a criminal attorney. Rachelle, with her lowly elementary school teaching job and her disastrous history with men, was the family jester. She was an endless source of material for laughter among the relatives.

As she was leaning against the telephone booth, her eyes blurred with tears, she saw the man in the armor leave and walking down the path. Coming down the lane was one of the buses, as usual doing about fifty km an hour on the narrow street. Suddenly, Rachelle stood up straight. The bus was coming, the man was walking very fast, and, somehow, she instinctively knew he was going to walk in front of the bus. Without another thought, Rachelle started to run. Just as she took flight, there was a man wearing a white gown walking in her direction. he too seemed to notice the man and the fast-moving vehicle. He too started running.

Rachelle reached the man first. She made her best flying tackle, the one she'd learned from playing football with her cousins, and landed on top of him. The two of them skidded across the gravelled path on his armor as though it were a little rowboat as the bus flew past them. If Rachelle had been only one-second late, the man would have been hit by the bus.

"Are you alright?" the white gowned man who looked like a vicar asked, offering his hand to help Rachelle up. "I . . . I think so," she said as she stood up and dusted herself off. "You okay?" she asked the man on the ground. "What kind of animal was that?" he asked, sitting up, but not attempting to stand. He looked dazed. "I did not hear it coming." His voice lowered. Rachelle exchanged looks with the vicar.

"I'll get him a glass of water," the vicar said, giving a little smile to Rachelle as though to say, You saved him, so he's all yours.

"Wait!" the man said. "What year is this?"

"Two thousand and fourteen," the vicar answered, and when the man lay back on the ground as if exhausted, the vicar looked at Rachelle. "I'll get the water," he said, then went hurrying off, leaving them alone.

Rachelle offered her hand to the man on the ground, but he refused it and stood up on his own. "I think you ought to sit down," she said kindly as she motioned to an iron bench inside the low stone wall. He looked at her suspiciously and he wouldn't go first but followed her through the open gate, then wouldn't sit until she had. But Rachelle pushed him to sit down. He looked too pale and too bewildered to pay attention to courtesy.

You're dangerous, you know that? Listen, you sit right here and I'm going to call a doctor. You are not well."

She turned away, but his words halted her. "I think perhaps I am dead," he said softly. She looked back at him in speculation. If he was suicidal, then she couldn't leave him alone. "Why don't you come with me?" she said quietly. "We'll go together to find you some help."

He didn't move from the bench. "What technique of conveyance was it that nearly struck me down?"

Rachelle moved to sit beside him. If he was suicidal, maybe what he needed most was someone to talk to. "Where are you from? You have an accent I've never heard before."

"I'm Japanese. What is this place? What ninja technique was that and what clan does it belong too?" I have never seen it in my life.

"All right," she said with a sigh. She could play along with him. "That was what we call a bus it's used for public transportation. She grimaced. "So what else don't you know about? Airplanes? Trains?" It was one thing to offer help, but she had important things of her own to take care of. "Look, I really need to go. Let's go to that church over there and have the vicar call a doctor." She paused. "Or maybe we should call your mother." Surely the people of this city knew of this beautiful crazy man who ran about in armor and pretended he'd never seen a wristwatch or a bus.

Do not dare talk of my mother, you fool, he spoke the last part with an insolent tone. For your own idiotic life, hope that my brother and clan are unharmed. Believe me, your pathetic little life depends on it.

"I'm sorry. She said quietly, she knew better than anger the wanna-be ninja. The last thing she wanted was to be burnt to a crisp and die before she married and have a family of her own. Where do you live? I could help you get home, you look too pale to be left on the streets alone. "I don't want you dying and your ghost comes back to haunt me for the rest of my miserable life, she thought."

"Do you know who it is you're talking to? All of your ancestors must number in the millions; its hard to believe that many people are to blame for producing you." You're talking to the leader of one of the strongest clan ever existed, you should stamp the useful information I've given you on your forehead. You better know your place, before you die stupid.

Rachelle was quite, looking at the man beside her, she wasn't sure of what to say to him.

What the man had done so far was: Insult her, and try killing her whenever she said something he didn't like…which was all the time.

"I'm calling someone, a doctor, anyone. Was all she could muster. She stood up to leave but he caught her hand and wouldn't let her leave. "I was sitting . . . in my office writing an important letter when I heard a woman weeping. The room darkened, my head swam; then I was standing over a woman—you." He looked up at her with disgust.

Rachelle thought that leaving this man alone would be so much easier if he weren't so utterly divine looking. "Maybe you blacked out after acting on stage. Why don't you tell me where you live so I can make sure you get home safely?" I promise if I do something stupid, then you can burn me how ever you like.

"When I was in the my workplace, the year was 1884." You said this year 2014, yes? How is that possible?

Delusional, Rachelle thought. His face is beautiful~breathtaking and his body is Godly but crazy. Just my luck.

"Come with me," she said softly, as though speaking to a child about to step over a cliff. "We'll find someone to help you."

The man came off the bench hesitantly, his black charcoal eyes blazing. The size of him, the anger of him, not to mention that he was steel-covered and carried a sword that looked to be razor sharp, made Rachelle step back.

"I am not yet ready for Bedlam, mistress. I know not why I am here nor how I came to be here, but I know who I am and from whence I came." She claims to be innocent, if it's true, then she's just another desperate woman trying to get my attention. Summoning the _**Great Uchiha Madara**_for her own pleasure, the soon she tells me how to get back home, the soon I will have the pleasure of killing her.

She saw a smile on the man's handsome face, but it wasn't the every day smile, nope: It was a smile that could kill all animals if were unfortunate enough to be twenty miles from him. Rachelle had watched a lot of scary movies however, none of them could measure up to the scary and creepy look he was giving her right now. She felt threatened and confused, she wanted to abandon the hot dude and go try collecting what was left of her scattered life.

"But she couldn't leave him, she didn't understand why."

"I have to go home now," I know my brother is searching for me right about now and I would hate to think of what will happen if he doesn't find me. I want you to send me back this instant.

"Does he look like you? He must be hot too, I bet you're hotter tho! Ah…oops." Did i just say that out loud?

He smirked.

o_o`

Suddenly, laughter began to rumble deep inside Rachelle when she remembered what he'd said before. "You came from the eighteenth century. Japanese's ninja time, right? Of course. Oh, boy! This is going to be the best Rachelle-story ever. I'm jilted in the morning and three hours later a ghost holds a sword to my throat." She stood up. "Thanks a lot, mister. You've cheered me up immensely.

She's got a mouth that won't quit and a brain that won't start. Madara thought to himself.

Didn't you hear anything i told you? you really are a waste of human skin, aren't you? Do whatever you did to summon me here, and reverse it.

I didn't do a thing to you, I keep telling you that. Now if you'll excuse me, am going to call my sister and ask her to wire me 100 dollars—no more, no less—then I'm catching a bus to the hotel where Mark and I are staying. I'll get my plane ticket, then I'm going home. I'm sure that after today the rest of my life is going to be uneventful."

She turned away from him, but he blocked her path. From inside his blue pants he withdrew a leather pouch, looked in it, took out a bunch papers, and pressed them into Rachelle's hand, closing her fingers over them. "Take that money, woman, and be gone.

You have proved yourself to be worthless, I'll spare your useless life and spiteful tongue. I will beseech Kami-sama to reverse your wickedness or I'll have to beat it outa ya if we ever meet again, hopefully not."

She was tempted to throw the money at him but she noticed the many zeros on each paper, she needed money, she could find the place to exchange it into Canadian dollars and call her sister again.

"That's me, Wicked Witch Rachelle. I don't know why I want a bus when I have a perfectly good broomstick, she was trying to be sarcastic. I'll send your money back in care of the vicar. So long, and I hope we never meet again."

_To be continued _

* * *

first, I would like to thank those who followed and favs this story. You gave me the courage to continue, thanks for being awesome.

Secondly, If I receive some feedback from you...my good readers, I'll update 1-2 chapters weekly. I really wanna know what you guys think of this fic you can be honest with me, your opinions are much appreciated.

Finally, I know I suck with spellings/grammar but please bear with me I'll try my best to improve. _Please review/fav/follow. Thanks for reading! _


	4. Chapter 4

_** Madara x Rachelle**_

Chapter: Four

When the woman left, Madara turned and went inside the church. How could he make that woman understand that he had to return? If he had died, It would mean he had left too much undone. What horror had befallen the people he'd left behind?

Madara had dropped to his knees on the cold stone floor and begun to meditate. Perhaps if he calmed himself and figure out a jutsu as strong as the witch's magic, he could overrule her power and return himself. But as he meditated, his mind raced. Phrases ran through his head: The woman is the key. You need to know. These words were what he heard over and over.

After a while he stopped and opened his mind to his thoughts. Witch or no, the woman had brought him forward, therefore only she had the power to return him to his own time. Yet, for all that she had brought him forward, she did not seem to have a use for him. Perhaps, Madara thought, she had not meant to call him forth. Perhaps she had great power, but knew not how to use it.

But, again, perhaps he had been pulled across time for some reason neither of them knew. So why had he come forward? he wondered. Was he to learn something? Was this witch to teach him something? Could it be possible that she was as innocent as she claimed to be?

Had she been weeping over some base lovers' quarrel, and, for some reason neither of them knew, she had conjured him forward to this dangerous time? If he learned what he needed to know here, would he then return to his proper time?

The witch was the key. The phrase kept running through his mind. Whether she had brought him forth through malicious intent or by unhappy accident, he was sure that she held the power to return him. And if that were true, then, through her, he was to learn what he must in this time.

He must bind her to him, he thought. No matter what the cost to his peace, no matter if he had to lie, slander, blaspheme, he knew that he must bind the woman to him. He had to see to it that she did not leave him until he discovered what he needed to know from her.

When the woman returned to the church, Madara was still on his knees, and while she was complaining about the money Madara had given her, he offered Kami his thanks for the woman's return.

* * *

"Who are you?" Rachelle asked the man wearing the ridiculous costume. She watched him get off his knees, and from the ease with which he moved in the heavy armor, she knew he must have been rehearsing with it for a long time. Are you by any chance a burglar?

When she saw his eyes ignite, she stepped back. She didn't want him to press a sword against her throat again. But she saw him calm himself.

"Nay, madam, the money I gave to you is my own."

"I can't accept all of it," Rachelle said firmly, holding out the money. "It is a lot, I only wanted bus fare."

"It should be enough for your needs. Yes?" he asked softly, even giving a slight smile. Rachelle gave him a suspicious look. A few minutes ago he was attacking her with a sword and fire, but now he was smiling at her as though he meant to . . . well, to seduce her. The sooner she got away from this incredibly delicious looking man the better off she would be, she thought.

When the man made no effort to take the money, she put them on the edge of the chair. "Thanks for offering them to me, but I only wanted 100 bucks. You can keep the rest, I'm sure you need it more than I do." She turned to leave the church.

"Pause, woman!" he said loudly.

Rachelle clenched her fists at her sides. This man's grammar was getting on her nerves. She turned to face him. "Look, I know you have problems. I mean, maybe you cracked your head and can't remember who you are, but that's not my problem. I have problems of my own. I don't have a penny to my name, I'm hungry, I don't know anyone in this city, and I don't even know how I'm going to get a bed tonight, even if I could afford one."

"Nor do I," the man said softly, looking at her with sad, hopeful eyes.

Rachelle sighed. Needy men, she thought, the bane of my life. But this time, she told herself, she wasn't going to fall for it. This time she wasn't going to help an insane man who, when angry, breathed fire and pulled a sword on her.

"Go outside the church, take a right—be sure and watch out for cars—walk two blocks, there's a shopping mall. Buy yourself some proper clothes, and check into a good hotel. Miss Marple says there are few problems in life that can't be solved by a week in a good hotel. If you take a long, hot bath, I'll bet your memory will return in no time."

Madara could only stare at her, what was a "block"? Who was "Miss Marple"?

At his blank look, Rachelle sighed again. She could no more leave him alone than she could leave an injured puppy in the middle of the highway. "All right," she said at last. "Come with me to the telephone and I'll point you on your way. But that's it. That's all I'm doing! You're on your own after that."

Quietly, Madara followed her out of the church, but he stopped in his tracks when they stepped outside the gate. What he was seeing was too horrifying to believe.

After only a few steps, Rachelle realized the man wasn't behind her. Turning, she saw him gaping at a young girl on the opposite side of the road. She was dressed in the current English idea of chic: all in black. She wore tall black high heels, black hose, a tiny black leather skirt, and a huge black sweater that reached to the top of her thighs. Her short hair was sprayed purple and red, and stuck up like a porcupine's quills.

Rachelle smiled. The punk rocker-influenced fashions were a shock to anyone, much less to a crazy man under the illusion that he was from the past. "Come on," she said good-naturedly. "She's ordinary. You should see the people attending a rock concert."

They walked to the phone booth, and Rachelle again gave him directions but, to her annoyance, he didn't leave, but stood outside the booth. "Please go away," she said, but he didn't move. I'll ignore him, she thought as she picked up the telephone, but she put it down quickly and turned to him.

"I think we need to get some things straight between us. If this is a Japanese way of pick up ladies, I'm not interested. I already have a guy. Or did have one." Rachelle took a breath. "I do have a man in my life. In fact I'm going to call him right now, and I'm sure as hell he'll change his mind, realize I'm best woman out there and he'll come and get me."

Madara didn't reply to her little speech, but just stood there looking at her like she was the biggest fool to ever appear in the world. With a sigh, Rachelle called the operator to place a collect call to Mack at his cell but it was switched off.

Now what do I do? she thought.

"What is this?" Madara asked, looking at the telephone with great interest. "You talked to this?"

"Give me a break, will you?" she half-yelled, taking her anger out on him. Rachelle leaned against the phone cubicle and, in spite of herself, tears came to her eyes. "So where's my Hero?...my Prince?" she whispered. As she said the words, she looked at the man standing before her. A fading ray of sunlight struck his armor, a shadow fell across his black hair. This man had appeared the last time she'd cried and begged for a prince/hero.

"You have had bad news?" he asked.

She straightened. "It looks as though I've been eternally abandoned by my boyfriend," she said softly, looking at him.

No, it couldn't be, and she wasn't going to even consider it. It was a one in a million chance that this actor, who was so involved in his role that he believed it, should appear exactly at the moment she'd asked for a gorgeous prince. The truth was that Rachelle was a magnet for strange men. Men who had problems seemed to have radar for finding her.

"I, too, seem to have lost all," he said so softly she hardly heard him.

Oh, no! she thought. She was not going to fall for that line. "Someone around here must know who you are. Maybe if you ask at the post office, someone can tell you how to get home."

"Post office?"

He looked so genuinely lost that she could feel herself softening toward him.

No, Rachelle, no, she told herself, but the next moment she heard herself say, "Come on. I'll take you there." They walked together, and his erect, perfect carriage made Rachelle straighten her shoulders.

Everywhere they passed people stared at them—as far as Rachelle could tell, all the eyes were on Madara, they passed a couple of American tourists with their two adolescent children. The man had two cameras about his neck.

"Lookit that, Myrt," the man said, the adults rudely gaping at Madara in his armor, and the children laughing and pointing.

"Ill-mannered louts," Madara said under his breath. "Someone should teach them how to behave in the presence of their betters."

Things happened very quickly after that. A bus stopped just a few feet from them, and out stepped a bunch Japanese tourists, their cameras clicking as they photographed every attractions they would see. When they saw Madara, their mouths fall wide open and they advanced on him, cameras covering their faces.

Madara put his hands together and his eyes become RED, he stepped forward. Watching from the sidelines, the American woman tourist screamed in fear, but the Japanese kept moving closer, their cameras clicking like cicadas on a hot summer night.

To prevent the coming clash, Rachelle did the only thing she knew worked: she flung herself against the armor-clad man and yelled, "No!" Unfortunately, when she hit him, the edge of his sword slashed the upper sleeve of her blouse and cut her arm. Startled by the pain, Rachelle tripped and nearly fell, but the prince caught her, lifted her into his arms for the second time, and carried her back to the sidewalk. Behind them, the Japanese cameras were still clicking and the Americans applauded.

"Gee, Mama, this is better than the lame show we watched last night," an American kid said. "It's not in the guidebook, Dylan," the woman said. "I think they should put things like this in the guidebook, or otherwise a somebody could think it was real."

Madara set the woman down. Somehow, he did not know how, but he had made a fool of himself.

He did not ask his questions, as questions seemed to annoy the witch-woman. "Lady, you are injured," he said, and Rachelle could tell by the way he stiffened that he was mortified that he'd injured her.

Her arm was bleeding and the wound hurt, but she decided to let him off the hook. "It's only a flesh wound," she said, trying to sound funny. But the man didn't smile at her joke. Instead, he continued to look embarrassed.

"It's not anything," she said, looking at the bloody place on her arm. She took a tissue from her skirt pocket and pressed it over the cut. "Lets go shop for some clothes at the mall."

When Rachelle entered the cloths store, a man smiled at her in welcome. "If there's anything you need help with ma'am, please let me know. I—" He broke off when he saw Madara. Slowly, without a word, the man came forward and began to walk around Madara, examining his clothing.

After one circuit, he dropped down the clothes he was holding and looked at the armor, murmuring, "Mmm hmm," over and over. While Madara stood stiffly erect, looking at the man in distaste, but also looking as though he didn't want to commit another indiscretion, the man examined every part of Madara. His face, hair, armor, sword, and finally his legs.

"No, it can't be, impossible. The man said, almost to himself."

Throughout this, Madara had been enduring the clerk's scrutiny with ill-concealed distaste.

At last the clerk stepped back. "Remarkable," he said. "I have never seen a cross-dressing this perfect, you look like the real guy. Who did your makeup and hair style, I really must know ~ I would take my sister there, she's a huge fan of the character your cross-dressing as well."

"Cross-dressing?!" Madara snapped. "Who do you think you are to insult me in such manner?

Do you know who I am?

"No, sir, not personally anyway," the salesman muttered, but I know you are trying to look like Madara Uchiha from the Naruto Shippuden. The man replied with a grin.

For once, Madara was speechless and looked really furious, he was now glaring at the man. Before anyone knew what was happening, Madara had his sword on the man's neck.

"Talk now," before I slice your throat this instance. How do you know my name?

The clerk fall to his knees putting his hands up...In surrender, fear showing on his round face. He was murmuring something, they couldn't hear what he was saying.

"Madara what do you think you're doing?" You can't just put a sword on someone's ne…Rachelle didn't get finish her scolding, a piece of info had registered in her brain, wait a minute, did he just say you name? She looked at the man on the floor.

I'm not going to ask you again, how it is you know both of my names, start talking. The man was now freaking out, if only I knew how to keep my big mouth shut and mind my own business, I wouldn't be getting in trouble with these weirdos.

"My sister and I watch this show called Naruto. It's a japanese animated show, there's this one character named Uchiha Madara and he is a villain in the show." My big sister has a huge crush on this character, she always force me to watch every episode he's in, she goes as far as cross-dress just to look like him. When you walked in, you looked exactly like him, that's the why I inspected you, I apology for my rude behaviour.

They both looked dumbfounded and speechless.

"May I watch this show you're talking about?" Rachelle asked, still looking at man on the ground.

You can watch it online, just google it, it's one of the popular anime, you'll find it easily.

Unfortunately, I don't have my laptop with me right now, can I borrow yours? This is an emergency. When the clerk gave her the F-off look. I guess I'll do this the hard way, she leaned to the guy's ears.

"The man in front of you might be the real thing, it'd be in your best interest not to piss him off~trust me, I'm speaking from experience. He almost killed me a couple of times, now hand it over. She commanded."

Madara was still standing with his sword stretched as he watched the scene before him, he wondered what these people were doing or talking about.

"It was too much for him to take in, first this man had called him a cross-dresser and a cartoon character. Did that annoy him..? Not as much. The worst was being called a cartoon villain….A Villain." Madara had been called a bunch of thing by his enemies, but none measured up to being called a villain. Who does this man think he is...huh?

"Madara are you coming? Rachelle called, we're going to the food court on the third floor, we need a place to sit and watch the anime. The clerk is going to borrow us his laptop so we would watch the show he told us about, maybe there might be a connection between you and this character he told us about; you have the same name. I doubt it tho, I mean being crazy and weird is one thing but coming out of an animation show is another. She thought."

But first, you should change out of this ridiculous outfit you're wearing, the last thing we need is people taking pictures of you again, we both know how that's gonna end up.

"We need clothing for him from the skin out. And he'll have to be measured for size." Even if the man did remember his sizes, he'd no doubt pretend he didn't just to give me a hard time, she thought.

"Certainly," the clerk said, then looked at Madara. "If you'll step over here, sir, we can begin measuring."

When she saw that the man was leading the way to a semi-private area at the back of the store, Rachelle stood where she was. But Madara insisted that she go with him into the curtained-off area. Rachelle sat on a chair off to one side, picked up a magazine, and pretended to read while the clerk began to undress Madara.

The way he raised his arms for the clerk to unlatch his armor made it look as though he was used to other people undressing him. Carefully, almost reverently, the little man set Madara's armor on a cushioned bench. Rachelle saw the man run a caressing hand down one side of the armor before turning back.

"Rachelle got a good view of Madara's body when the armor was off, her jaw almost dropped on the floor...What a body he had! Rachelle thought as she tossed her magazine."

She'd seen armor in museums and had laughed at the way the metal had been molded into the shape of a muscular torso. She'd always thought that it had been done to hide a man's paunch. But this man, this Madara Uchiha, was indeed as broad-shouldered and as muscled as the shape of the armor.

Rachelle tried her best to put her eyes and pay attention something else, but it was hard to do as she kept glancing up at the bare-chested Madara. The clerk brought one shirt after another for him to try on, but the prince liked none of them.

After about the fifteenth shirt, the clerk looked with pleading eyes to Rachelle.

She walked to stand before him, her eyes determinedly on his face. "What's wrong?" she asked Madara.

He moved to one side, away from the clerk, who busied himself with folding clothes. "There is no beauty or style in this raiment," he said, frowning. "The colors are too bright. Perhaps a woman could ply her needle to one of these and—"

Rachelle smiled. "Women don't sew today. At least not like this," she said as she touched the cuff of his shirt that had been thrown across a clothing rack. The cuff was embroidered in black silk in a design of red and white fan.

Rachelle caught herself. Of course women—some women, somewhere—still sewed like that because someone in this century had sewn that shirt, hadn't she?

Rachelle picked up a beautiful cotton shirt from the discarded heap. The Japanese weren't like Americans in always wanting something new every five minutes. If one could afford the outrageous prices, the quality was worth the cost.

"Here, try this one on again," she said, finding herself coaxing him. She wondered if there was a woman alive who hadn't experienced shopping with a man and trying to persuade him to like something. "Look at this fabric; feel how soft it is." As Rachelle held the shirt for him, his reluctance evident, Madara slipped his arms into the sleeves, while she did her best to keep her eyes off the way his muscles played under his skin.

The shirt was beautiful. "Now," she said, "step over to the mirror and have a look." She had seen the four full-length mirrors when they'd entered the curtained area, so it had not occurred to her that Madara had not noticed them.

Rachelle wasn't prepared for his reaction to the three mirrors. At first he just stared at them; then, cautiously, he reached out to touch one.

"They are glass?" he whispered.

"Of course. What else are mirrors made of?"

Glancing up at the man, she saw the way he was studying his reflection. Was it truly the first time he'd ever seen a clear full-length view of himself?

Of course not, she told herself. He just didn't remember the last time he'd seen a mirror. Or maybe he did remember and was pretending he didn't.

Looking up, she caught sight of her own reflection in the mirror. What a mess she was! As a result of all her crying, her eye makeup was under her eyes instead of above them. Her blouse was hanging out of her belt, and there a long cut on the sleeve, and it was dotted with blood. Her navy blue tights were bagging at the ankle. And her hair, tangled and droopy, was too awful to contemplate.

Turning away from the unpleasant vision, she mumbled, "Trousers." This time, Rachelle left the curtained area as the clerk measured Madara. When the door to the shop opened and more customers entered, the clerk ushered Madara to a dressing room, then handed him several pair of trousers through the door. All was quiet for a moment until Rachelle saw the dressing room door open a crack and the man peeped out, looking at Rachelle for help. She went to him.

"I cannot manage," he said softly, then opened the door wider so she could enter.

"What manner of fastening is this?"

Rachelle tried not to think of this situation. She was squashed into a dressing room with a strange man who's trouser zipper stuck on his boxer shorts. "Here, let me him . . ." This's really awkward, she thought.

She backed out of the dressing room when she was done. "You need any more help, let me know." She was still smiling as she closed the door behind her. Standing with her back to the dressing room door, she looked at the clothes around her.

While they had been inside the dressing room, the clerk had placed the armor, the sword in two large, doubled shopping bags and had set them to the left of the dressing room door. When Rachelle went to pick up the bags, they were so heavy she almost dropped them.

After a while, Madara came out of the dressing room. He was wearing a soft red cotton shirt and slim black cotton trousers. He looked utterly divine.

As Rachelle watched him, he walked to the mirror, then glowered at his image.

"These . . . these," he said, tugging at the ease of the trousers at the back of his leg.

"Trousers. Pants," she supplied, blinking at him. It was taking her a while to adjust to his good looks.

"They do not fit me. They do not show my legs, and I have a fine pair of legs."

Rachelle laughed and her trance was broken. "Men don't walk around wearing bandages and ninja shoes, but, really, you look great."

"I am not sure," he said, frowning. "Perhaps a black shirt."

"No, too much black is not good" she said firmly. "Trust me on this. You look breath-taking."

She chose a leather belt for him, then socks. "We'll have to go to another store for shoes." Feeling as though she'd done her good deed for the year, Rachelle wasn't prepared for Madara's actions at the cash register. The little clerk totaled the tags he'd cut from the clothes, then told them the cost. Rachelle was shocked speechless when Madara shouted, "I will have your head, thief!" then reached for his sword—which, thankfully, was in the shopping bags by Rachelle's feet.

"He means to rob me!" Madara bellowed. "I can hire a dozen men for less than he asks for these unadorned clothes."

Rachelle nearly leaped as she put herself between Madara and the counter while the poor little clerk huddled against the opposite wall. "Give me the money," she said firmly. "Everything costs more now than it used to. I mean," she said as she clenched her teeth, "you'll remember soon enough about how much things cost. Now, give me the money."

Still angry, he handed Rachelle the leather bag full of coins. "No," she said, "the modern money." When Madara just stood there, not seeming to understand what she was talking about, she searched through the shopping bags until she found the Canadian dollars she had gave him back.

"He will take that paper you're holding for clothes?" the prince whispered as Rachelle counted out the money; then he smirked. "I will give him all the paper he wants.

"He is a fool." Madara said with distaste.

To be continued.

* * *

Sorry for the late update.

Hope you enjoyed it. If not, let me know.


	5. Chapter 5

The Elegant Prince

Chapter: Five

"He will take that paper you're holding for clothes?" the prince whispered as Rachelle counted out the money; then he smirked. "I will give him all the paper he wants.

"He is a fool." Madara said with distaste.

"It's paper money," she said as they left the shop. "And you can exchange the paper for gold."

"Someone will give me gold for paper?" he asked, incredulous.

"Yes, there are gold dealers, and some banks sell gold."

"Then why do you not use gold to buy goods with?"

"Too heavy, I guess." She sighed. "You put your money in a bank. The money you aren't using, that is, and use the paper as a substitute for the gold. Where do you put your money?" she asked.

"In my houses," he answered, frowning as he considered what she'd told him.

"Oh, I see," she said, smiling. "I guess you dig a hole and hide it. Well, today money is put in a bank where it earns interest."

"What is interest?"

Rachelle groaned. Enough was enough! "There's a Tim Hortons on the second floor. Are you hungry?"

"Yes," he answered as he opened the door for her.

"Mark was never a gentleman," never opened the door for her or serve her breakfast in bed- or even make breakfast at all. But the man in front of her wasn't exactly what you would call "normal, he was anything- but" however, he had some good manners when he wasn't trying to kill her. I bet he would treat a woman nicely if they got on his good side.

Did Mark know he had taken Rachelle's handbag? Did he know he'd left Rachelle completely stranded, alone at the mercy of crazy men? Even after what Mark had done to her, she knew that if Mark walked into the Tim's at that moment, she would fall to her knees and beg for his forgiveness.

"May I help you?" the woman behind the counter asked.

"Medium coffee for two," Rachelle said. "And five scones, please."

In moments the woman passed a tray holding two cups of coffee, and plates of food across the counter to her. She paid, then picked up the tray and looked at Madara. "Anything else, you want?"

"I think not." He replied.

He followed her to the food court, Madara was amazed how carefree the people in the food court looked, none of them had weapons. Silently, Rachelle set the tray down and handed Madara a cup of coffee and three scones, she then took out the laptop and turned it on.

The clerk had told them to search for Naruto Shippuden episode 322. She googled it and surprisingly enough, she found it. "Rachelle thought it was bizarre that the episode she found was named Madara Uchiha."

She instructed Madara to get close so they would watch together and he did as he was told.

"HOLLY SHIT." Madara, It's really you. "Why the hell are you fucking-up these people or characters... Argh, whatever they are? Rachelle screamed on top of her lungs, and everyone in the court turned and glared at her, but she didn't care.

"Keep it down, lady. We're trying to have a peaceful lunch" A man from the crowd yelled.

"Shut it, jerk," I'm trying to watch something very important. Rachelle yelled back, the man was about to yell again, but closed his mouth the moment he saw the look Madara was giving him.

"I knew I was awesome, but this? And when did I do this?" Madara was very impressed with himself, and at the same time - very confused.

The two continued watching the episode as the Madara in the show turned the entire butterflied upside down. Not only did Madara beat the shit out of his enemies, but he also utterly raped them and left them with no sense of security or hope.

"Rachelle was terrified," if she had been scared of him before! "Now, she was not only intimidated by Madara, she was also terrorized by him.

When the episode ended, Rachelle was so threatened ~ she decided to stay quiet as she didn't want to say the wrong words that could get her and the all people in the mall killed.

What manner of magic is this and how did you use it? Madara asked, pointing at the laptop as though he was scared of touching it.

"I didn't use any magic, it's a laptop device. Rachelle replied, "how can he act normal after what he had done to those poor souls? And what if he does the same thing in this world, she thought.

Madara gave the coffee a tentative look, then sipped cautiously. After two sips, he looked at Rachelle with such naked joy on his face that she laughed as he drained the cup. She passed him her own cup while he picked up the scone and looked at it. She took the scone from him, broke it in half and slathered it with the thick clotted cream.

He bit into it and as he chewed, he looked like a man who had fallen in love. In minutes he had drunk all the coffee and eaten all the scones. After a couple of remarks about his gluttony, Rachelle went back into the coffee shop and bought more of everything. When she returned, she ate while he leaned back in his chair, sipped coffee, and studied her.

"What made you weep under the tree?" he asked.

"I . . . I really don't believe that's any of your business."

"If I am to return—and I must return—I need to know what brought me forth."

Rachelle put her half-eaten scone down. "You aren't going to start that again, are you? She asked.

Madara looked at her with distaste. "For all your wonders of the non war country, your marvelous glass, and the riches of goods to purchase, you have no faith in the mystery and magic of the world," he said softly. "But I do not doubt what has happened to me, and I know from whence I came," he said evenly. "And you, witch—"

At that, Rachelle got up, picked up the laptop and left the table. But he caught her before she reached the elevator, his hand cutting into her arm.

"Why were you weeping when first I saw you? What could cause a woman to weep such as I heard?" he demanded.

She jerked out of his grip. "Because I'd just been left behind," she said angrily. Then, to her shame, tears began again.

Gently, he slipped her arm in his and led her back to the table. This time, he sat beside her. "Now, madam, you must tell me what plagues you so that tears pour forth from your eyes as from a waterfall."

Rachelle didn't want to tell anyone what had happened to her. But her need to share was greater than her pride, and within minutes, she was pouring out her story to him.

"This man left you alone? Unattended?" Madara asked, aghast. "He left you at the mercy of ruffians and thieves?" Weak women such as yourself should have guards everywhere they go, but I'd highly recommend for you to get some training, he said.

Nodding, Rachelle blew her nose on a paper napkin, pretending not to hear the last part. "And at the mercy of a man who destroyed his own world, too. Oh, sorry," she added. But Madara didn't seem to hear her. He got up and began pacing the court. There were six other tables beside them, but no other customers, the customers had all moved far away because they were scared of Madara.

"You but you weeped—and asked for a . . ." He looked at her.

"A Prince," It's a saying. All women want a gorgeous. . . I mean, a. . . Well, a man to rescue her." He smirked at her, he said, "I was not wearing a crown when you called me forth."

"But, my case is different, the saying doesn't apply to me." I mean, instead of getting a prince to rescue me, I ended up with... Uh, you. "A dangerous leader who would mess-up anyone and anything that annoys him."

You still didn't answer my question, peasant. Why did you call me forth, and why were you shedding tears?

"I didn't call you," she said fiercely. "It's customary to cry when you get abandoned. Especially when your boyfriend steals your stuff and uses you for years. I don't even have a passport. Even if my family wired me money for a ticket home, I couldn't leave immediately. I'd have to apply for another passport."

"Nor can I get home," he said, beginning to pace again. "That we have in common. But if you brought me forth, you can send me back."

"I am not a witch," she practically shouted at him. "I do not practice black magic nor jutsu, and I certainly don't know how to send people back and forth in time. You're powerful enough, why don't you send yourself back?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "No doubt your lover was justified in leaving you. With your vile temper, he would not want to remain with you."

"I was never 'vile-tempered' as you call it, with Mark. Maybe a little-short-tempered now and then, but only normally so, because I loved him. Love him. And I shouldn't have complained so much about getting married."

"And you love this man who abandoned you, this man who stole from you?"

"Yes, I just wish I could find him and get my passport back so I could go home."

"It seems we have kindred goals," he said, his eyes boring into hers.

Suddenly, she knew where he was leading. He wanted her to help him on a permanent basis. But she was not going to saddle herself with a man strong enough to destroy the entire planet.

She set her empty cup down. "Our goals aren't alike enough that we should spend the next few months together until you go back in your own world, that's if you didn't sink it up. No, thank you. Now, if you don't mind, I believe we have an agreement. I'll find you a hotel room, then I'm free to leave."

When she finished her little speech, she could see the flush of anger through his scary eyes. "Are all the women of this century as you are?"

"No, just the ones who have been hurt over and over again," she shot back at him. "If you really don't have a way of getting back to wherever you came from, you should make this city your home. Rent a house, get a job, and I recommend you register for an anger management class~believe me you need it. Anyways, you don't need me." She collected the empty coffee cups and made her way to the garbage area, but Madara stood before her.

"What recourse have I if I tell the truth? Have you no belief that your tears could have called me from another time, another place?"

"Of course I don't believe that," she said. "There are a thousand explanations as to why you came from an animated show, but not one of them has to do with my being a witch. Now, will you excuse me? I need to put these down so I can find you a hotel room."

"If you think I'd be here by choice, then you really are a special kind of stupid." He stepped aside so she could take the stuff, then followed her to the clothing store where they had borrowed the laptop. All the while, he kept his head down as though he were considering some great problem.

Rachelle waved to the clerk when she saw him hanging the clothes, the clerk rushed to them. "Did you find the episodes?" He asked.

Yes, we did, thanks for the help. Rachelle answered.

Where is my brother? Do you know what ever happened to him?

"Um… your brother? Do you mean Izuna? The clerk asked.

No, your mother. Yes, I'm talking about Izuna, you fool.

Does this mean you really are the real Naruto villain, Madara Uchiha?

Rachelle jumped between Madara and the clerk, Madara had started making hand signs and Rachelle knew that was a sign that Madara was about to do something dangerous.

"We do not wish to discuss this issue right now, and I wouldn't push your luck if I were you." Do you know where we can find a good bed-and-breakfast around here?

Yes. When you exit the mall, turn on your first left- continue on the same street, it will be on the right side.

After they had gotten the proper address for the bed-and-breakfast, Rachelle and Madara walked quietly along side each other in a quiet street, it bothered her that he didn't speak. Nor did he look about around with the intense interest he'd shown earlier.

"Do you like your clothes?" she asked, trying to make conversation. He was carrying the shopping bags full of armor and his old clothes.

He didn't answer, but kept walking, his brow furrowed.

There was only one room available at the bed-and-breakfast, and Rachelle started to sign the register. "Do you really think that you're the Uchiha Madara we just saw in the anime? If yes, then how is it possible that you are here" she asked him.

"He completely ignored her."

To be continued

* * *

First of all, I'd like to thank those who fav/followed and reviewed this story. You guys are awesome and the best, I really appreciate it.

Secondly, sorry for the lame closing, I wrote a long chapter and it was impossible to post it. I tried countless times but still failed, so I had to divide it into two chapters. Chapter six is now posted.

Thank you all for taking the time to read this.


	6. Chapter 6

**The Elegant Prince**

Chapter: Six

"Do you want to talk about it? Or maybe later?"

He didn't answer, he looked as though he was in deep thoughts.

They entered the hotel, and the woman behind the little desk smiled. "Oh, wow! She said as she put the Naruto manga book she had been reading down." She looked at both of them. "You do look a lot like him, only hotter and a bit more alive," she said, then laughed at her own joke. "First door on the right. Bath's down the hall." Smiling, she left them alone in the entrance hall.

When Rachelle turned to look at the man, she suddenly felt as though she was a mother abandoning her child. "You'll figure everything out soon," she said soothingly. "And this lady can tell you where to get dinner."

"Lady?" he asked. "And dinner at this hour?"

"All right," she said, frustrated. "She's a woman and a meal this is super late. I'll bet that after a good night's sleep you'll remember how you got into this world and how to get back, if you'll ever."

"I have forgot naught, madam," he said stiffly, then seemed to relent. "And you cannot leave. Only you know how to return me to my own time."

"Cut me some slack, will you?" she snapped at him. Didn't he understand that she, too, had needs? She couldn't give up all that she needed to help this stranger, could she? "If you'll just give me the fifty dollars we agreed on, I'll leave. I'll be on my way."

When he just stood there, she rummaged in the shopping bags until she found his paper money; then she removed fifty dollars and gave him the rest of it. "Tomorrow you can take your other money to the dealer and he'll give you more modern money," she said as she turned to go. "Good luck." She gave one last look in his black eyes that looked so sorrowful, then turned and left.

But once she left the hotel, she didn't feel jubilant at finally having rid herself of the man. Instead, she felt as though she was missing something.

But Rachelle forced herself to put her shoulders back and her head up. It was getting late and she had to find a place to spend the night—a cheap place—and she had to decide where to go from here.

* * *

When Madara found the upstairs room where he was to spend the night, he was appalled. The room was small, with two tiny, hard-looking beds with no cloth hangings enclosing them, and the walls were very bare. But upon closer examination he saw that the walls were painted with thousands of tiny blue flowers.

On second thought, he decided that with a few borders and some order to the paintings they might look alright. There was a window with that marvelous glass in it, and it had fabric side hangings of painted cloth. There were framed pictures on the walls, and when he touched one, he felt the glass—so clear he could hardly see it. One of the pictures was quite lewd, showing two naked women sitting on a cloth near two fully dressed men.

It was not that Madara didn't like the picture, but he couldn't bear to see such a shameful thing displayed so openly. He turned it to face the wall.

There was a cabinet in the room, but such as he'd never seen before. It was entirely full of drawers! He tried, but the top of the cabinet did not lift up. He pulled the drawers out one by one and they worked marvelously well.

After a while, Madara began to look for a chamber pot, but one was not to be found anywhere in the room. Finally, he went downstairs and out to the back garden to find a privy, but there were none.

"Have things changed that much in one hundred years?" he mumbled as he relieved himself in the rose bushes. He fumbled with the zipper and snaps, but managed rather well, he thought.

"I will do well without the witch," he said to himself as he went back into the house. Perhaps tomorrow he would wake and find this all to be a bad dream, a long, bad dream.

No one was about downstairs, so Madara looked into a room with an open door. There was furniture in the room that was fully covered with fine, woven fabric. There was a chair with not one inch of wood showing. When he sat on the chair, the softness enveloped him. For a moment he closed his eyes and thought of his brother and his gentle voice. "How is Izuna dealing with my disappearance?" He thought.

Madara turned to see the landlady standing at the door.

"I came to check on you, see if you're comfortable with the room," she said.

"Ah, yes, everything is alright," Madara said, smiling as he stood up. Suddenly, he felt dizzy and reached out to catch himself on a chair.

"Are you all right?"

"Merely tired," Madara murmured.

"Traveling always wears me out. Been far today?"

"Hundred and something years."

The woman smiled. "I feel that way too when I travel. You should have a bit of a lie-down before supper."

"Yes," Madara said softly as he started for his bed. Perhaps tomorrow he would be able to think more clearly about how to get himself back to his own time. Or perhaps tomorrow he'd wake up in his own bed and find that all of it was over, not just this twenty first-century nightmare, but also the nightmare he'd been in when last he was home.

When the landlady left, he undressed slowly, and hung his clothes up as he had seen done in the clothes shop. Where was the witch now? He wondered. Was she back in the arms of her lover? She was powerful enough to have called him forward over one hundred and thirty years, so he had no doubt that she could conjure an errant lover back across mere miles.

Nude, Madara climbed into bed. The sheets were smooth beyond believing and they smelled clean and fresh. Over him, instead of multiple, heavy coverlets, was a fat, soft, light blanket. Tomorrow, he thought as he closed his eyes in weariness. Tomorrow he would be home.

Instantly, he fell into a sleep that was deeper than any he'd ever experienced before, and he heard nothing when the sky opened and it began to rain.

Hours after he went to bed, reluctantly, he was awakened by his own thrashing about. Groggily, Madara sat up. The room was so dark that at first he didn't know where he was. As he listened to the rain pounding on the roof, his memory gradually returned. He fumbled at the table beside the bed for flint and candle so he could make a light, but there were none.

"What manner of place is this?" he exclaimed. "There are no chamber pots, no privies, and no lights."

As he was grumbling, his head turned sharply as he listened. Someone was calling him. The voice was not in words. He couldn't hear the actual sound of his name, but he could feel the urgency and the desperate need of a voice that was reaching out to him.

He ignored the calling voice and tried closing his eyes again, but he couldn't go back to sleep. No doubt it was the witch-woman, he thought with a grimace. Was she bent over a cauldron of snakes' eyes, stirring and cackling and whispering his name?

As Madara felt the pull of the call, he knew there was no use fighting her. As he lived and breathed, he knew he had to go to her.

With great reluctance, he left the warm bed, then began the arduous task of trying to dress himself in the strange modern clothes. It was when he pulled up the zipper that he discovered the parts of his body that were most susceptible to being caught in the tiny metal teeth. Cursing, he put on the flimsy shirt and felt his way out of the dark room.

He was glad to see that there was light in the hall. On the wall was a glass-enclosed torch, but the flame was not fire, and whatever it was, it was encased in a round glass sphere. He wanted to examine this miracle further, but through a window came a flash of lightning, and a crack of thunder rattled the house—and the call came to him more forcefully.

He went down the stairs, across lush carpets, and out into the pouring rain. Shielding his face with his hands, Madara looked up to see that high above his head were more flames set on top of poles, yet the blowing rain did not extinguish their fire. Shivering, already wet through, Madara put his head down into his collar.

These modern clothes had no substance! The modern people must be strong! he thought. How did they survive with no capes, or armor to protect them from the driving rain?

Struggling against the force of the rain, he went down streets that were unfamiliar to him. Several times he heard strange noises and reached for his sword, then cursed when he found that the weapon was not there. Tomorrow, he thought, he would force the woman to tell him the truth of what she had done to bring him to this strange land.

He struggled down street after street, making several wrong turns, but then he'd stop and listen until the call came again. After a while of following what he was hearing inside his mind, he left the streets that had the torches on poles and entered the darkness of the countryside. For several minutes, he walked along a road, then stopped and listened as he wiped rain from his face. Finally, he turned right and started across a field, and when he reached a fence, he climbed over it, then kept walking.

At long last, he reached a small shed, and he knew that, at last, he had found her. As he flung open the door, a flash of lightning showed her inside the shed. She was drenched and shivering, and curled into a ball on some dirty straw, trying her best to get warm. And, once again, she was weeping.

"Well, servant," he said, his teeth clenched in anger, "you have called me from a warm bed. What is it you want of me now?"

"Go away," she sobbed. "Leave me alone."

As he looked down at her, he had to admire her fortitude—as well as her pride. Her teeth were chattering so hard he could hear them over the rain; she was obviously freezing. With a sigh, he released his anger. If she were such a powerful witch, why had she not conjured herself a dry place for the night?

Madara stepped into the leaking shed, bent, and lifted her into his arms.

"I do not know who is the more helpless," he said, "you or I."

"Let me go," she said, as he picked her up, but she made no real struggle to get away from him. Instead, she put her head against his shoulder and began to sob harder. "I couldn't find any place to stay.

Madara had to adjust her in his arms as he swung over the fence, but he kept walking, and Rachelle continued crying as her arms slipped around his neck. "I don't belong anywhere," she said. "My family is perfect, but I'm not. All the women in my family marry wonderful men, but I can't even meet any wonderful men.

Mark was a great catch but I couldn't hold on to him. Oh, Madda, what am I going to do?"

They were out of the fields and back onto a paved road. "First, madam," he said, "you may not call me Madda. Madara, yes, My lord, perhaps, but not Madara. Now, since we seem destined to know one another, what is your name?"

"Rachelle," she said, clinging to him. "It's Rachelle Richardson."

"Hmph, a stupid name for a stupid person." Very well witch, let's get you inside and get you dried up.

To be continued

* * *

Thank you all for taking the time to read this.


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